Poems by Pratiksha Karn
A Terrifying Stir
In all the cherry thrive,
In all the primer reaping hive,
Prosper and prosper,
on those reserves that offer,
yet, the means no matter;
Sum of golds they roster and coster,
That, this frail world brightly flatter.
A rosette of roses and rouge,
florid, fragrance, filled in bruge.
Ease of perfumed incense,
ah! bouquets of expense,
embed orchids, it’s their owned tense,
hence, labour, endure, make no sense
but all, droop for this flowery fence.
Smarten tiara carved in jewels.
To all the much of fancy fuel.
No bit of dolour undergone.
No bit of yen for dazzling dawn.
No bit of sigh for soothing yawn.
Numbing any menace that add on,
Touch not deep pockets oh, moron.
So, the loss that record for blue collar,
Drudges and grind are yet no taller.
Wherein, larger the rate of sweat.
Utterly all scramble threat.
Grip on the crude soil even get offset.
The stretch of glum and luxury has never met.
Appears a blight on doer with an awake asset.
How can an ocean of treasure,
ache of earthy pleasure?
How can a hand full of intellect,
any defeat will select?
How can a radiance, protest,
for baggage of blazing reflect?
Perhaps, spilt of effort and fame collect.
All the whines and whinge,
Of battles on lost.
Hard approach frost,
Cause, the firm fixed flap,
Of collapse often rails to
The ailing doom’s hinge.
All the sighs and tough grind,
Or the severe action spend.
Could ever mend?
The rough ragged rap,
Of fate’s driven act.
Which no hard stir, can define.
All the powers and charge,
Passing by the smatter trade.
Soon, the fiery foe upgrade.
Lowering lost on the fortuity’s trap.
And then twining,
Every active sweat with its recharge.
All the myths and humankind,
Makes no wit,
Where the earned reward fit.
For the fact; the partial fate’s lap.
Indeed, enough of craving eyes,
With the default stroke, predesigned.